To Be Loki
by Show-ki
Summary: He stared at the little positive sign that, in all honesty, looked more like a division sign. Steve/teen!Loki. Contains m-preg. Ficlet.
1. Positive

He stared at the little positive sign that, in all honesty, looked more like a division sign. Perhaps it was simply denial that fueled him to think so, or perhaps the fear of what his lover would do. Either way, it was there.

Positive.

Sighing angrily, the godling threw the test into the small trashcan beside the toilet, running his pale, thin fingers through his dark hair, knotting them in frustration. Steve would be devastated God, he had been hesitant about the sex, but if he found out he had impregnated him…The man would fall apart. Not that Steve would hate him for it, oh no. In fact, the man would do all he could to make the prince as comfortable and happy as he could. But there would be guilt. He would blame himself when the godling's father raged at him, he would blame himself when Loki birthed the child, in unimaginable pain. Not to mention the disappointment and tension that would undoubtedly occur between his brother and his boyfriend.

Hanging his head, he made the only decision he could. He would leave. For Steve's sake, for his so-called-father's sake, and for his brother's sake— repercussions would be avoided, and any blame would be placed solely on him. They'd think he ran away for some reason or another. And though it would hurt them to think that someone so dear to them suddenly up and left (especially Steve, god help him), it would keep them and the child safe.

Because that was his fate. To be Loki was to suffer.

He placed a thin, trembling hand on his ever-so-subtly swelling abdomen, rubbing the beginnings of the baby bump. Yes, soon. A smile graced his thin lips, though it was hardly happy.

"I'm so sorry, love." he murmured at the bump, then left the dark bathroom, slinking out of the public toilet and heading in the direction of his home.

As he opened the door, he clutched onto Steve's favorite leather jacket, tears beginning to blur his vision.

"I'm sorry."


	2. Hela

Once again, he found himself in a public bathroom. It was late at night, but the sound of the city still blared on; the voices of people in the street, the honking of horns, and the sound of cars passing, like a soft sighs in the loud night.  
Loki's legs trembled as he spread them, gasping as he felt his body reconstruct and become female once more, building a passageway for the child to pass through. But it was far too early, at only eight months of pregnancy. Something wasn't right, he could sense it.  
Blood trickled down his legs, stark in comparison to the white of his legs. He let out a cry as he body racked from the contractions. 'Oh god, it's happening.' he thought, tears streaking his thin face. 'It's happening here and now, in a dirty little bathroom stall in Boston. I'm having Steve Roger's child and no one is going to be able to help me, oh GOD.'  
He sobbed as each minute rolled by, each an eternity, blood pooling around his body as he went into labor. The godling threw his head back and screamed, fists clenched and knuckles white, black hair stuck to his sweaty brow in little strands. The scream itself echoed through the bathroom, making even his own ears ring. It, however, was nothing in comparison to the white-hot pain coming from below, the little life exiting him. With every fiber of his being he wished for Steve to be there, to hold him and tell him he would be okay, that everything would be okay.  
But he knew this: To be Loki was to be alone. To be Loki was to suffer and atone.  
Hours passed, and the pain continued, his fatigued body shaking with the effort of labor. At last, in a final burst of pain and strength, a small body slid out of him, wailing, onto the small blanket he had carried with him. The godling panted, smiling. The deed was done, the child was born.  
Pushing himself up, he leaned down and with his magic, severed the umbilical cord. With shaky hands, he cleaned the child with the towels he carried in his small knapsack. She gurgled in response, clenching impossibly tiny, pink fingers.  
"Hela..." he breathed as held the child in his tired arms, smiling weakly. "Welcome to Midgard, my dearest."


	3. The Oncoming Storm

~8 months previously~  
The sound of their breathing, heavy, filled the air. The room was otherwise silent, and fairly dark though it was only mid-afternoon.  
"Loki," was the only word that escaped the mouth of the older blonde man, who lay beside the raven-haired god.  
Said god was smirking, gazing into the azure eyes of his lover. Oh, he was 100% sure Thor would disapprove of him sleeping with one of his team mates, and surely would punish him later, but it was so damned appealing. After all, Steve was so sweet and loving to him, like no other had been before. Especially in non-sexual ways. More so than even his brother. He was drawn in like a moth to a flame.  
Sighing, the super-soldier gently brushed the dark, sweat-slicked hair off of Loki's brow, smiling softly at him as he placed a kiss upon it.  
"I love you."  
The words did not come so lightly from him. It had been many years since he had loved one as he had loved Loki, and it made the teen's heart swell. The godling smiled, though it was really more of a smirk.  
"I love you, too, Steven Rogers." His jade eyes twinkled mischievously. Of course, there was no other way they could twinkle, really. Other than, perhaps, sadly, but the sadness was always there. Laying just underneath the surface...unnameable, unchanging, eternal. But it was part of him, and after a while, no one noticed.  
"Does the rest of the team know...about us?"  
Steve shook his head.  
"No. Not even Natasha or Clint. I cover my tracks better these days."  
"You're sure?"  
"Fa-" A thin finger pressed against his lips.  
"Never mind that. Shh. Just...hold me. Please."  
Wordlessly, the supersoldier's arms snaked around his lover's trim waist, pulling him closer. It was blissful in that moment, just the two of them in the quiet of the room, sealed away from the rest of the madly spinning world, for just a few hours.  
Little did either of them know that a storm was coming that had nothing to do with the forecast, or that in a few short months, they would be the parents to a tiny goddess. In that very moment, Loki didn't truly understand what it meant to BE Loki. Oh no, he had only had a small taste. But the pot was boiling and the full course would be served in due time. He wold be alone. He would be with child.  
He would fulfill his fate, and have a full serving of the pain that came with it.


	4. Drowning

The bed was too lumpy beneath him, and every joint in his body stiff like the age he should have had. It had been nine months since Loki had disappeared, and there was still absolutely nothing from him. It was as if he had dropped right off the face of the Earth.  
Though, quite possibly, he had.  
But perhaps their relationship had been too strenuous for the young god, too much work to hide, and so he had fled. Perhaps he no longer held an interest in him.  
Steve ran his fingers through his hair, curling in on himself, sheets twisting around him like bindings. He felt his stomach constrict, his throat acidic and dry. What if it was his fault? His fingers knotted in golden locks, pulling hard until his knuckles ached.  
'My fault.'  
Bitter tears welled up in his eyes, throat clenching up. His stomach turned nauseously.  
'What if he's hurt?'  
A small thought whispered somewhere deep within him, and then echoed, louder, louder, louder, until it was practically screaming at him, mocking him.  
'YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT YOUR FAULT!'  
Steve's nails dug into his scalp as the guilt continued to drown him. His fault. His fault like Bucky's death.  
'What do you ever do right, Captain? You don't even deserve that title.'  
"I'm sorry." he gasped, addressing no one in particular. He let go of his hair and let his arms wrap around him. "I didn't mean-"  
A soft knock on the door snapped him back to reality.  
"Rogers?"  
He sat up, swallowing his guilt and rubbing his eyes as if he had been sleeping.  
"Yeah, what's up?"  
The door slowly opened as Natasha stepped in, light flooding the darkened room. Her brows were furrowed in something caught between concern and confusion.  
"Are you alright?"  
"...Yeah. Just had a nightmare, that's all." Natasha pursed her lips, clearly disbelieving.  
"I trust you'll tell me if you need something. I'm here."  
"Yeah..."  
Romanov nodded, then began to shut the door.  
"Wait a second."  
She paused, then turned slowly. "Yes?"  
"I...ah...could we talk?"  
A small smile graced the spy's lips as she strode over, taking a seat on the bed beside the Captain.  
"Sure."  
Steve swallowed the fist-sized lump in his throat and then began.  
"See, about Loki..."


	5. Forgiveness, The Enviable Trait

He wants to say that things have changed. His feelings have changed. He's moved on with his life, and that the scars on his knuckles mean nothing.  
Obviously, he can't.  
It's been three years, now. Three years of quiet suffering and regrets. He's done everything in his power to find his elusive lover- but he's practically given up. Gods can disappear off the map like that if they don't want to be found.  
Steve still dreams about him, sometimes. He dreams about their hands curled together, their bodies close and the warmth of skin on skin. They're so pleasant that when he wakes up, he feels the loss like a punch to the stomach. Some nights Bruce or 'Tash will come in and sit beside him until he comes down, until the shakes stop, until the tears stop.  
At this point, everyone knows about him and Loki. At first, Thor had been resentful, enraged at first, even. But not long after, pity set in, and eventually, forgiveness. For a while, he had been his greatest ally in searching for Loki.  
The search, of course, had long been given up by others.  
It hurt. God, it hurt like fucking hell, but he powered through it. Barely.

But life is funny like that. Cruel like that. The second you stop searching for something, the second you feel like you don't need it anymore, you find it in the palm of your hand.  
For Steve, it comes in the form of a soft knock at the door at 5:30 in the afternoon on a Friday. He's unwinding, watching The Wizard Of Oz on the Stark-supplied flat screen in his living room when he hears it. He sighs a moment, running a hand through his short, tousled blonde hair as he pauses the film and pads towards the door. There's another soft knock.  
"Coming!" He calls as he reaches the door that's seen better days. Steve grips the handle and swings the door open, only seeming a little annoyed as he does so. His film was just getting to the good part, anyways.  
He certainly wasn't prepared for what was outside his door, however.  
Before him stands the most beautiful young man he's ever seen- his effeminate, pale face accentuated gently by the curve of subtle cheekbones that only highlight emerald eyes that shine intelligently. The young man's hair falls in dark waves around his slim shoulders, dark auburn and possibly better taken care of than most women's hair. A soft smile graces the man's cherry lips.  
"Steven." Says a familiar, smooth voice. Beside him stands a little girl. She can't be more than 2 or 3, and her soft hair is blonde, tied into pigtails on either side of her head. A smattering of freckles dusts her round cheeks. Her eyes are a subtle green, like the young man's, and she bares a striking resemblance to himself. Steve feels like someone's punched him in the stomach.  
"Who are you..." He says breathlessly, though he already knows the answer. He needs to hear it, hear his name again, drink in the young man's voice that he so missed. Steve knows the man knows it.  
"Loki."  
And then his knees are buckling, heart pounding in his ears, vision going staticy. Smooth, pale hands better likened to marble than flesh touch his face, gently sliding up and tangling in blonde locks. He's close then, lips gently parted as they kiss him, the forehead, the nose, the cheeks- finally, lips. His lips beg for forgiveness and reward him with their sweetness.  
When they part, it feels like he's missing something.  
"Forgive me," the god breathes, green eyes pleading. "Please, Steven."  
The blonde's voice is dry when he speaks, barely above a whisper. "...You were gone. For three years."  
There is regret clear on Loki's features. "...I know. And I apologize for that. Dearly." he paused, eyebrows furrowing. "I had my reasons, Steven. Please understand."  
It would be selfish of him to stay frustrated. So the supersoldier wraps his arms around the god- albeit, a tad awkwardly, and embraces him. Loki's arms snake around his waist not too long after. Loki smiles. Rogers still smells like aftershave and leather.  
"I forgive you." Steve says quietly, enjoying the quiet moment of intimacy, something he had missed dearly over the past three years. When he draws away from Loki, he steps aside, opening the door. "Come in." A mirthless smile graces his lover's lips as he steps in, the tiny girl toddling after him.  
"We have much to speak about, Steven. I have a long story to tell you." Loki's voice is gentle, but there is an ominous edge to it. The Captain frowns, and shuts the door.


End file.
